


Snow Cold Fingers

by gerardwaymustdle



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Suicide Squad (2016)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, SO MUCH FLUFF, harley is cold, harley is pregnant, ice cravings, j is happy about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:23:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gerardwaymustdle/pseuds/gerardwaymustdle
Summary: Harley sat on the tiled floor of the kitchen, drinking her water in the room, pitch black save the glow coming from the refrigerator stationed in the corner. The water was icy, it made her teeth chatter, but she had been craving the ice for two hours while she lay in the bed next to the sleeping Joker. She had a midnight radio show playing music quietly while she crunched, big belly moving slightly as her girl woke with the cold. It was December, there was snow on the ground, yet Harley sat in a mere shirt on the cool floor, eating ice and shivering.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another vague drabble, this time with Harley about to become a mommy! As usual, not affiliated with the plot of Suicide Squad, but using freeform versions of H + J from that. Once again, thank you to Court for all the support!

Harley sat on the tiled floor of the kitchen, drinking her water in the room, pitch black save the glow coming from the refrigerator stationed in the corner. The water was icy, it made her teeth chatter, but she had been craving the ice for two hours while she lay in the bed next to the sleeping Joker. She had a midnight radio show playing music quietly while she crunched, big belly moving slightly as her girl woke with the cold. It was December, there was snow on the ground, yet Harley sat in a mere shirt on the cool floor, eating ice and shivering. 

When the bag was done, Harley almost shamefully hid it in the bin and went back to sitting on the kitchen floor, running her fingers lightly over her nightshirt while the tiny little girl kicked back at her in excitement. She was exhausted, yet happy, happy to have a little quiet time to contrast the craziness of her days with the Joker, away from the goons, away from the murder, away from all the people that wanted them dead. Nightfall became her saviour, the time that was hers to use, the evenings filled with music and running water and ice and her happiness. She loved the Joker, she couldn’t imagine a life without him, but she wasn’t naturally as crazy as her lover. A part of her desired peace and quiet, calm and serene evenings with a bottle of wine in front of the TV, reading in bed, a stable job to wake up for in the morning. He gave her things like that, gave her restaurant evenings and baths lit with candles, yet also gave her blood, wounds, car chases and bared teeth, staring death in the face and laughing back at his worried visage. He gave her diamond rings and midnight balls, and he gave her capture from Arkham and running, always running, always shooting someone or something that said something in the wrong tone of voice.

But he was her Puddin’, and she wouldn’t have him any other way.

She drank another water, eyes closed, watching the condensation of water vapour coming from the fridge into the warm room. She engrossed herself in the music, not hearing anything else, not the creak of the old wooden stairs or the calloused feet pacing down to the hallway, the anxiety screaming to find his lover. She missed the figure standing over her, furrowed brow turning to a soft smile as he knelt before her. Her eyes opened when rough, torn fingers gently cupped her cheek, and he leant forward, kissing her lips gently. She smiled, fingers snowy in both colour and temperature wrapping around his neck, holding him close to her, feeling over the marks left by the pillow on his cheeks. He was warm, the Sahara to her Antartica, the glowing embers of the fire to her delicate snowflakes. 

“Harley..” He started, but was cut off with a chilled finger against his lips, willing him not to break her silence. He understood and smiled, instead pulling her up against his chest, one arm wrapped carefully around her torso and the opposite hand tucked into her hairs. He leant over, holding her tight, and turned up the radio a little, not caring about which of his goons would be disturbed that night.

He slowly led her into a dance, twirling her around like the princess she was to him, the little princess of crime, the princess of a sleazy empire, built on drugs and blood, the throne made of grenades, machine guns, and one hell of a lot of silk. He held her to his chest as they danced around the kitchen, narrowly avoiding the island, one of his hands moving from the small of her back to her baby bump to feel his next little princess kicking excitedly at the rush of love coming from Harley’s body. The Joker couldn’t wait for the day that his baby princess was in his arms, the day he could dress her in tiny replications of Mommy’s clothing, the baths he could do with her and how much he could love and cherish her. It killed him, keeping it a secret, but there was nothing that he could do - Harley was so scared of losing the baby that she had made him promise to not tell anyone until she was holding her. 

When his queen stumbled, he held her up, strong muscles clenching to hold the weight of his two favourite girls while they danced around the kitchen in the refrigerator light. She was his everything, and was giving him a gift barely even thought possible before. He wasn’t sure that there was a luckier man in the entirety of Gotham.

**Author's Note:**

> Make sure to leave kudos and a comment (please, I love comments) if you enjoyed, and check out my other works "Harlequin" and "Surprises".


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